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Maria, or the Wrongs of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft
page 36 of 152 (23%)
A magic lamp now seemed to be suspended in Maria's prison, and fairy
landscapes flitted round the gloomy walls, late so blank. Rushing from
the depth of despair, on the seraph wing of hope, she found herself
happy.--She was beloved, and every emotion was rapturous.

To Darnford she had not shown a decided affection; the fear of
outrunning his, a sure proof of love, made her often assume a coldness
and indifference foreign from her character; and, even when giving way
to the playful emotions of a heart just loosened from the frozen bond of
grief, there was a delicacy in her manner of expressing her sensibility,
which made him doubt whether it was the effect of love.

One evening, when Jemima left them, to listen to the sound of a distant
footstep, which seemed cautiously to approach, he seized Maria's
hand--it was not withdrawn. They conversed with earnestness of their
situation; and, during the conversation, he once or twice gently drew
her towards him. He felt the fragrance of her breath, and longed, yet
feared, to touch the lips from which it issued; spirits of purity seemed
to guard them, while all the enchanting graces of love sported on her
cheeks, and languished in her eyes.

Jemima entering, he reflected on his diffidence with poignant regret,
and, she once more taking alarm, he ventured, as Maria stood near his
chair, to approach her lips with a declaration of love. She drew back
with solemnity, he hung down his head abashed; but lifting his eyes
timidly, they met her's; she had determined, during that instant, and
suffered their rays to mingle. He took, with more ardour, reassured, a
half-consenting, half-reluctant kiss, reluctant only from modesty; and
there was a sacredness in her dignified manner of reclining her glowing
face on his shoulder, that powerfully impressed him. Desire was lost in
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